Belle and I had a date the Saturday before I left on my trip. It was at a nice restaurant, one of her favorites, though I remember when the space had been a hot dog joint and, truthfully, I liked it better back then. In any event, we had a long and, for me, difficult talk about Where We Were with regard to the whole chastity thing.
Last week, in a comment, I used the metaphor of a pond in trying to describe what it was like being a man in near constant chastity. It’s not a perfect analogy, but the combination of my sexual drive, desires, emotional state, and need for intimacy – what I’ll call my sexuality for short – is like a pond. When the water’s moving, things are good. A nice chop on the surface makes me feel energized and gives me the buzz I crave when locked up. Certain things get the water moving better than others. Porn can be like dropping a little pebble in the water. Having permission to play with myself can have a pretty good effect. Getting Belle off makes a decent size splash while her teasing me and leaving me panting for more is like dropping a boulder. Some combination of all these things is necessary to keep the water moving, though the driver – the most important element – is anything having to do with connection to Belle. Right now, we’ve gone about a month and I’ve only been able to be sexual with Belle once in all that time. At the time of our dinner conversation, it had been about three weeks. The water had stilled and become like glass.
What I eventually was able to say to her is that I need to know she’s still involved in my chastity. That doesn’t mean, necessarily, that we’re having sex, but it does mean I still have an idea that she’s aware of my status and what I’m going through. The few simple words she gave me on her birthday are a good example, but then Friday night came along and, from what I could tell, a wide open window of opportunity presented itself for us to have sex, but we didn’t. No words, no explanation. She just sort of rolled over and that was that. It was very frustrating for me (and not in the good way) because I crave some really good, really sexy quality time with her. Badly. It’s not just that I want sex. I want connection. I want intimacy. I want to exchange our pleasures. I want to send a strong current of energy along whatever line binds us together. And, if she’s not in the mood for it, I need some recognition of that. Not explanation. Not apology (god, please, not that) just words. That she knows what I want and that it’s still not going to happen because she gets to choose and she chooses no. But in the absence of any of that, I am left to stew in my own juices (literally and figuratively). And that’s a Bad Thing.
I think we may have started to confuse the health of our larger relationship with the health of our D/s slash chastity overlay. It is an overlay. Something stacked on top of the foundation of our love and commitment. I suggested that if we find ourselves in a place where we’re not able to connect for a long time (either because of distance or the ebb and flow of emotion) that we put the chastity overlay on hold. Maybe even the orgasm control and denial overlay. We should not look at that as a failure or a sign of relationship troubles. As long as we keep communicating, it should be OK. As in all other things, communication is the key.
The thing is, she can disengage from our chastity game pretty easily but I cannot. I’m in it 24/7 for as long as we’re doing it. I never stop playing the game. I can’t. Eventually, without context and without recognition and without communication, I start to feel disconnected. Adrift. Resentful. It will not be the end of the world if one of us says to the other, “You know what? I’m just not that into this right now.”
Which is where I was last week. I want to do this with her, but not the way it was happening. We left the meal with the understanding that I was still not allowed to come, but would be free for my trip. Last night, I was super horny and needing her, but it wasn’t going to happen. She asked how I was feeling and I said it was very hard being out. Very hard. She had said I would go back into lock-up on Sunday, but seeing how distracted I was with whatever I couldn’t keep my hands off of in my pants, ordered me back in on the spot. I went in the bathroom and put the device back on. Nothing happened sexually, but I felt better knowing she was thinking about me and the cock and my issues. I am desperately horny at the moment but I’m also just as desperate to feel her body. I fell asleep last night fantasizing about her laying me on my back and straddling my face. I imagined my hands reaching up to her breasts while she smothered me with her wet pussy, pushing and grinding it into my mouth for her pleasure. God, I need that. I need to feel her, taste her, make her come. I woke this morning with a highly pressurized tube and, for the first time in five mornings, wasn’t able to grab an erection. It felt pretty good.
The picture in this post is a little voodoo doll I picked up in the airport on the way home. I thought it was cute and pretty well perfectly summarized our relationship. I am a prisoner, literally. Her willing prisoner. My well being is in her hands as much as mine. The chastity device I wear is both a symbol and an assurance of my dedication to maintaing that status and, as long as it’s going to remain a positive force, requires us both to be engaged with one another. We both know this but, like anything else between two people, we sometimes need a reminder. Maybe that’ll be the doll’s job.